Adrenaline
by Elsie Bubbles
Summary: Sherlock and Molly are on the run. Following an ambush, they flee, working their way to the border. The adrenaline from the day pushes them to a rather enjoyable evening.


As usual, I don't own the characters or anything like that, just the arrangement of the words!

* * *

They were on the run. Neither had exactly volunteered for the mission, but neither was really able to refuse. Molly's involvement in Sherlock's death could inevitably put her in danger, arguably more danger than the others. She had to come with him.

Sherlock supposed he had to be grateful at the very least, who else would stitch him up? As the months dragged on Sherlock had become glad for Molly's presence. She was calm when he needed calm, was a reminder of why he was on this hellish mission. She kept him company despite his brain telling him he needed none. He had become fond of Molly.

Sherlock scoffed at the thought. _Fond_. It was a word whose meaning changed to something positive, something happy, but was originally synonymous with 'foolish'. How fitting.

He took a last drag from his cigarette before stubbing it out on the pavement under his foot. "I am a very foolish, fond old man," Sherlock quoted under his breath as he walked into their rented house. Locking the front door behind him, Sherlock wandered through the house, arriving finally at the door of the bedroom he and Molly shared.

Taking in the sight of a sleeping Molly, curled under the blankets peacefully, Sherlock found he could no longer be bitter. She grounded him and cared both for and about him. He needed her, and he knew if she had remained in London, he would still have grown sentimental toward her, as he had John, Lestrade, and Mrs. Hudson.

Sherlock quietly stripped down to his pants and t-shirt and crawled into bed next to Molly. She stirred slightly at the dip of the mattress, the lifting of blankets, and the sudden warmth of the addition of another body, but soon settled. Sherlock lay on his back willing himself to sleep, knowing that somehow he and Molly would wake in an embrace, just as they had every morning.

* * *

Sherlock was awakened by Molly gently maneuvering herself out of Sherlock's hold.

"Sorry," she mumbled as Sherlock moved to allow her out of bed.

Sherlock watched her pull her hair into a loose bun before heading to the bathroom. He heard the water in the shower begin to run, followed by the sound of the curtain being pulled across the rail. He wondered idly in what arrangement Molly had found their bodies when she woke before shaking his head and getting out of bed.

He carefully inspected the windows and doors of the house, making sure there was nothing amiss, as he shuffled to the kitchen to put on a pot of coffee.

He couldn't help but get caught up in a mental tirade at this domesticity. Waking next to a woman, limbs entangled; preparing coffee for them both, knowing the exact timing so he could present a hot mug to her as she entered the kitchen after her shower. Even the sensation he felt as she put the mug to her lips, taking a sip and smiling at the perfect flavour made him angry. Sherlock ran his hands through his hair frustratedly when suddenly he felt a blow to his side.

He recovered quickly and swung around to face his attacker, earning himself a punch in the stomach. Sherlock doubled over in pain and was pushed to the ground. Large hands wrapped around Sherlock's neck, he could vaguely see his attacker: short blond hair, piercing grey eyes. His mouth twisted in a manic grin.

Sherlock struggled with the man, trying in vain to get free as the man sneered down at him, "Sorry, Mister Holmes, but I can't just let you get away, can I? Don't worry though; your lady friend won't be far behind. Hell, maybe you'll meet her there."

Hands tightened and Sherlock felt, despite his situation, a surge of guilt. Not only would he not finish his task, Molly would die too. He was still struggling, but without oxygen he was losing quickly.

He heard and felt rather than saw a sudden reduction in force against him, accompanying the sound of something coming into forceful contact with something else. The man's hold slackened and he collapsed against Sherlock.

"Sherlock?!"

Molly.

The weight of the man above him was being pushed from Sherlock and Molly came into his vision.

"Sherlock? Are you okay? Sherlock!"

Unable to speak, Sherlock forced his eyes open, gasping for breath. Molly was kneeling above him, concern painted across her features. He attempted to sit up as Molly shuffled around, looking for a way to help. Leaning against the kitchen cabinets, Sherlock motioned towards the sink while miming a glass in his hand. Molly complied quickly, dropping down next to him as she handed him the glass.

Sherlock took a drink and managed to rasp "How?" before taking another drink of water.

How, indeed. How had they been found? How had Molly remained safe? It was obvious the blond man was aware of her. How had Molly been overlooked again?

Molly shrugged, "I don't know how they got in."

"They?" Sherlock rasped.

Molly nodded, "One was in the bedroom when I got out of the shower. I got him over the head with the blow dryer.

Sherlock smirked at Molly's ingenuity as she continued speaking.

"I got your attacker with the 'X' book of the encyclopedia. Guess they're not entirely useless."

Sherlock glanced to the floor near their assailant, his eyes locating the abandoned book. Downing the rest of his water, Sherlock stood and Molly followed suit.

"Right," he began. His voice still raw, but at least he was breathing properly, "We need to get rid of them, then leave. If we've been found we can't risk lingering. Molly, pack our bags, leave out a pair of trousers for me, then wait for me in the foyer. I'll deal with our guests.

Sherlock watched Molly scurry to the bedroom, making sure she was well out of the way of hearing and seeing before he opened a drawer and pulled out a knife. Working quickly, Sherlock bent over the man and carefully cut a deep line across the intruder's throat.

He moved to the bedroom to retrieve Molly's attacker. Dragging the man from the room, Sherlock was aware of Molly's eyes following his movements.

"I'll leave a new shirt out for you too," she remarked.

Sherlock nodded and continued dragging the man to the kitchen. This man met the same fate as the first.

Blood was seeping to the floor as Sherlock considered the best course of action. Pulling his mobile from his pocket, Sherlock sent a text to his brother before moving back to the bedroom. He stripped off his dirty clothes, leaving them in a pile on the floor before donning the pieces Molly had set aside for him, then his shoes, and proceeded down the hall to the foyer.

Molly was waiting for him, fidgeting anxiously. He grabbed his duffel bag from her and opened the front door. They walked to their car, threw their bags in the boot and hopped inside. Sherlock drove calmly until they reached the freeway.

"Mycroft will look after everything," Sherlock said as they sped to their next destination.

He saw Molly nod, then turn to look at him, "Where are we going?"

Sherlock took a deep breath, "Across the border, Quebec, eventually. We can't go today, though. Just in case."

Molly nodded again and turned forward, leaning her head against the passenger window.

"Molly, I… Thank you."

"For what?"

"You saved my life. That's twice now."

"You would have done it for me."

* * *

Sherlock drove until the car needed petrol. They had had nearly a full tank when they left the house, it was a symbol of just how far they had driven. Leaving the freeway at the next exit they came to, Sherlock drove slowly through the little town. At the petrol station Sherlock filled the car distractedly. He didn't want to go inside to pay, but Molly needed food.

Moving quickly he grabbed a selection of crisps and pop, as well as chocolate. He'd read chocolate could be beneficial in situations of shock. As he paid, the attendant looked at him curiously, "What happened to your neck?"

"Long story," Sherlock answered shortly.

"You from Australia?"

Sherlock stopped himself from scoffing before answering, "No, New Zealand."

Back in the car, Sherlock pressed the bag of food into Molly's hands, "Hotel?"

Molly nodded, watching the setting sun.

They drove a minute down the road to a tiny hotel. Sherlock handed Molly the credit card, "New Zealand, when they ask."

Molly smirked tiredly as they both exited the car, Molly to get a room, Sherlock to get their bags. He leaned against the car waiting for her, then standing straight as she emerged from the building with their room key. Together they walked back inside and to their room.

"They only had the one bed," Molly apologized once they were inside.

Sherlock flicked the light switch, "It's fine, Molly."

She turned to look at him and he watched her eyes flick to his neck. They widened in alarm, "Oh, Sherlock, your neck. I didn't realise in the car…"

"Yes, the petrol station attendant commented on it as well. Is it that bad?" He spoke as he walked to the bathroom to inspect it himself. Yes, his neck was purple and yellow and green with bruising. He touched it, wincing slightly. It was tender, but not painful. Molly appeared in the mirror behind him, worried expression once more.

"There is chocolate in the bag," Sherlock stated, "You should have some."

"So should you," Molly countered, "Really, you had the more traumatic experience."

Sherlock nodded and they exited the bathroom together. They sat on the bed, eating their chocolate and skimming news stations on the television for even a hint of what had transpired earlier. After an hour, Sherlock turned off the television, "Mycroft's men cleaned up well, then."

He looked to Molly and noted her position, her knees were bent so her chin rested on top, her arms wrapped around her legs securely. Sherlock shuffled closer to her and placed an arm around her shoulders, hugging her to him. His hand rubbed along her arm in what he hoped was a comforting gesture. Just as Molly had begun to relax into the embrace, they heard something at the door, someone trying to get into the room.

Sherlock jumped up from the bed, Molly following a second later. The rattling of a key card in the scanner repeated as Sherlock moved toward to the door. Wrenching it open, Sherlock came face to face with a short, portly, balding man. The man looked up in surprise before apologizing, "I'm so sorry. I thought this was my room! My mistake! Hmm, now where _is_ my room?"

The man laughed good-naturedly and wandered down the hall. Sherlock closed and locked the door and swore. Behind him Molly let out a frustrated sigh. He turned back to see her clutching the television remote in one hand, the other was resting over her heart. She smiled half-heartedly at him and he smiled back.

Sherlock walked over to her and lightly pushed he hand away from her heart, feeling the pulse race under his palm.

"I hate adrenaline," Molly muttered, letting the remote fall to the floor. Sherlock chuckled.

"It seems we're both on edge this evening," he replied, feeling his own heartbeat race.

They stood together for a while, waiting until they had both calmed, and even remaining after that.

Sherlock gazed down at Molly, her head had moved to rest against his chest as they stood. He was sure her eyes had closed as his free hand rubbed her back. He relished the feel of her arms wrapped around his waist, her heartbeat, now normalised, under his palm. Molly Hooper, the woman in his arms had saved his life. _Again_. He owed her more than he could ever imagine already, but he knew she expected nothing in return. She was selfless, and in that moment she was perfect to him.

"Molly," he mumbled.

She pulled away from him quickly, "Sorry, Sherlock"

He shook his head manically and pulled her close once more. Using both hands, he tilted her head so he could meet her lips with his. Sherlock felt Molly's surprise slowly melt away and her lips begin to move with his, he felt her arms wrap around his neck, he felt every centimetre of her body against his own. Molly pulled away slightly and Sherlock's lips moved down to her throat greedily, listening to the small sounds escaping from Molly as he worked her skin with his mouth.

Sherlock pulled back at the feeling of Molly's hands at the hem of his shirt, "We don't have to," he stated, wanting very much to continue, hoping Molly would be of the same mind. Molly responded by pulling the shirt over his head and throwing it to the floor. She reached for the hem of her own shirt and Sherlock watched as it met a similar fate.

A growl escaped from the back of Sherlock's throat as Molly drew closer and kissed him passionately. His hands moved to her back, swiftly unhooked Molly's bra and pulled it hastily from her body. The feeling of Molly's bare chest against his own made Sherlock's vision blur with desire. The softness of the skin of her breasts sent his mind in a thousand different directions, all of which ended with his cock buried deeply inside her.

Molly's hands were his groin, toying with the button and zipper of Sherlock's trousers. His hips bucked into her hands and Molly pulled away from his lips, her eyes flicking to his. Soon his trousers were open and Molly's hand slid inside. Sherlock groaned needily as she cupped him through his pants.

Deciding to retaliate, Sherlock ignored Molly's hand on him and reached forward to open her jeans. Their eyes met and Sherlock smirked before moving her backwards and pushing her onto the bed. He knelt before her and grabbed the waistband of her jeans, pulling them roughly from her body, her knickers following close behind. Sherlock's hands on either of her knees pushed her legs apart, opening her wide for him. His eyes flicked to Molly's once more, seeking her permission.

"Just get on with it," Molly moaned, making Sherlock grin before moving closer to her body. He licked and kissed her inner thighs, nipping them occasionally, teasing her. He let his warm breath fan over her, making her shiver deliciously. Finally he ran his tongue over her experimentally. Molly writhed against him as he continued, his tongue becoming bolder. Sherlock pulled Molly's body closer to him and ran his tongue across her clit, earning a squeal from his partner. He flicked his tongue over the sensitive bundle of nerves once more before resuming his long strokes.

Molly was quivering by the time Sherlock's lips wrapped around her clit. He sucked at her and flicked his tongue until Molly came wailing, hips bucking against his face. Sherlock remained between Molly's legs, satisfied, as he watched her naked chest heave as she regained her breath. His hands rubbed up and down her thighs soothingly until she leaned forward, "You are a man of many talents, Mister Holmes," she murmured. Sherlock grinned and watched Molly move closer, feeling her lips and tongue clean her juices from his face, his cock hardening at the taboo gesture.

He rose from his kneeling position, Molly's mouth now attached to his. His arms wrapped around her body, lifting her slightly to pull her to the centre of the bed. He felt his erection brush against Molly's thigh in the movement.

Molly's hands tangled gently in Sherlock's hair, pulling his mouth to her breasts. He licked and nipped at one nipple until Molly was moaning under him. Sherlock pulled away and smirked down at her.

"Sherlock!" she whined, tugging at this hair. He moved forward to kiss her soundly before continuing his work on her other nipple. He felt Molly's nails scrape down his back, causing his cock to twitch against Molly's body. Suddenly a hand was gripping him at the base.

"I need… please, Sherlock!"

Thinking quickly, Sherlock pulled away from her, he took her hand away from his cock with regret before wrapping his arms around Molly once more. He flipped them over so Molly lay on top of him.

"Molly, we don't have condoms," he murmured, pushing a stray piece of hair behind her ear. Stopping was the second-last thing he wanted to do, but it beat the possibility of conceiving a child in this mess. Molly would have to leave, go back to London. She would have to lie and answer difficult questions. Stopping was the better alternative.

"I don't care, I'm on the pill," Molly answered breathlessly as she sat up, legs on either side of his body. Sherlock hissed as her heated cunt made full contact with his sensitive skin.

Sherlock eyed her carefully and nodded. Molly leaned down to press a kiss to his open mouth and shifted backwards. He watched as she gripped his cock once more, positioning him so he could slide into her.

His eyes shut tightly as Molly slid slowly down his shaft, and groaned loudly once seated fully inside her. Above him, a low moan sounded from Molly, the noise echoed in his mind sweetly. Sherlock was breathing heavily as he opened his eyes, taking in the sight above him.

He watched, hypnotised, as Molly moved above him, glorying in her moans as they grew louder. Distantly he heard his own gasps as Molly clenched playfully around him. Sherlock reached forward to pinch Molly's hard nipples in retaliation, combining the action with a sudden thrust upward, forcing a surprised squeal from her, followed by a breathless giggle.

Molly leaned forward, her eyes closed as her clit rubbed against him while they moved together. Sherlock stretched forward to kiss her soundly, relishing the feeling of his tongue brushing across Molly's while he thrust inside her. His hands grabbed her arse and held her to him as he rode her.

Suddenly Molly screamed against his mouth in release, her cunt squeezing him to his own loud orgasm. Molly writhed against him as he emptied himself inside her. Sherlock's hands still gripped Molly's flesh, his hips pumping lazily until he felt too weak to continue. He groaned contentedly as he let his body relax, noting Molly was in a similar state.

After a few minutes, he noted absently Molly moving above him, putting herself in a more comfortable position. His cock slipped out of her as she adjusted her body. Sherlock put his nearest arm around her and rubbed her back.

* * *

Sherlock woke the next morning, his naked body wrapped around Molly's. He heard his mobile ringing across the room and groaned at the idea of leaving the bed.

"Answer your phone," Molly complained sleepily, obviously awakened by the shrill ringing. Sherlock sighed and rolled out of bed. He held the loathsome piece of technology to his ear and listened to Mycroft speak.

When he ended the call, Sherlock sauntered back to the bed, his eyes meeting Molly's as she looked up at him curiously.

"Chicoutimi," he stated

"Pardon me?"

"It's where we are going next. We're clear to go."

Molly nodded and sat up; Sherlock watched her rub the sleep from her eyes.

"We'll have to leave relatively soon," Sherlock began mischievously, "Perhaps we could expedite the morning routine by showering together."

Molly scoffed at him before getting out of bed. He watched her hungrily as she stretched, waiting for a response.

"You know we'll just end up being in there longer," Molly answered. Sherlock saw a playful glint in her eye as she spoke.

"Maybe. But I'm in a foolish mood."

* * *

Oh gosh! This story was not meant to be so long, but that's just the way it worked! Oh well.

Thank you so much for reading, lovelies! To be honest I'm a little unsure of this one, so reviews would be much appreciated! xx


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